


tearing away my patience and my wit

by quenne



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape, Community: stargate_las, F/M, M/M, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenne/pseuds/quenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rodney's daughter has a traumatic night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tearing away my patience and my wit

**Author's Note:**

> For [Stargate_LAS](http://community.livejournal.com/stargate_las/), challenge: The Things We Do For Family.

"Hurry up, John, the previews are on!"

John sighed and closed his laptop. Email would have to wait; they never got a chance to watch movies alone together any more. As he passed the bedroom on his way down, he heard Rodney's phone ring - the song Chelsea made him pick out as her ringtone, something by Lady Gaga. He ran in and picked it up. "Chelsea?"

 _"Daddy?"_ Chelsea asked, her voice nearly a whisper. He could tell something was wrong; his stomach plummeted to the floor.

"No, sweetheart, it's Poppa, what's wrong?"

 _"I'm scared,"_ she whispered, and John bolted straight down the steps, waving at Rodney to get his attention.

"Where are you?"

Rodney sprang up from the couch and paced in front of John. They'd let her take John's car for her first date with Billy Andersen, and John _knew_ he should never have let her go alone. "She's seventeen," Rodney'd said, and between Rodney's unbearable calm about their daughter's teenagerhood and Chelsea's pleading face, he'd handed over the keys.

 _"Lookout Point,"_ she said softly. _"I'm so scared, Poppa._

"Shhh, it's okay, we're coming to get you." John said, thinking. He waved at the netbook sitting on the coffee table and mouthed 'GPS' at Rodney. "Are you in the car?"

 _"No, I ran away, down the hill. I don't know how far."_

The fact that she was still whispering was enough to tell him the rest of the story. "We're on our way. Don't talk, but stay on the phone, okay?"

 _"Okay, Poppa,"_ she answered. He could hear her hitching breaths, but she wasn't crying out loud yet. She was smart, strong. They'd get to her. John passed the phone to Rodney and grabbed the keys, running for Rodney's monstrous SUV. Rodney kept up his usual patter of conversation, the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, tapping away on the netbook to get her location as John drove like a bat out of hell.

When they pulled into the parking lot, it was completely empty – not a car in sight. One look at Rodney told him Chelsea was still on the phone, so he finally let out the breath he was holding.

"Chelsea?" he called into the forest, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Can you hear me?"

"Poppa!"

The sound echoed in the still night air. She was a ways off, and Rodney had to guide them through the forest toward her phone signal until they could hear her for themselves. When they found her, she was barefoot and there were small cuts on her hands and forearms. Her shirt was torn in a couple of places, and she was leaning on a tree pretty heavily. John could feel the rage build, white hot and right behind his eyes, but he held it in check, picking up his little girl and carrying her back to Rodney's car.

John drove, thankful for the steering wheel to wrap his hands around until his knuckles turned white. Rodney talked non-stop at Chelsea, cleaning her up with wet naps and clucking at her soothingly. He always was the better parent at comforting.

Rodney was the one who'd had to calm her down when she got her first period (John was the one who went in to school screaming mad that it hadn't been covered in health class); Rodney was the one who cleaned out the scratches from the feral cat she'd found (John was the one who put the cat down); Rodney was the one whose shoulder she cried on when she hadn't gotten the lead in the school play – and Rodney was the one who'd had to talk John down from threatening the drama coach to give her a better part.

Rodney had his arm around her as he led her into the house; Rodney washed her face and brushed her hair; Rodney tucked her into bed and sang her favorite lullaby.

John went to the safe in the bedroom and got his gun; went to the safe in the office and got the bullets; grabbed the netbook with the GPS tracking program and set it for his car.

"Don't, John," Rodney said from the top of the stairs. "Please."

"He touched our little girl, Rodney."

Rodney didn't answer. John didn't wait.

He heard the sirens two blocks before he saw his car. He threw the SUV into park and jumped out, leaving the door standing wide open. There were four or five uniformed cops and Billy Andersen was face down in the mud, hands cuffed behind him. Ronon stood over him, one large boot on his back. John's hand tightened around his gun, but before he could raise it, Teyla was stalking toward him.

"John," she said smoothly, even though he could see the hard glint in her eyes. "Get back in your car and go home."

"No."

"John," Teyla said again, her voice maddeningly placid, and her hand over his on his gun. "Rodney and Chelsea need you at home."

"My little girl," he said, and then turned to the kid with his face in the mud. "You touched my little girl."

He tried to raise his gun again, but Teyla was too fast. She'd disarmed him before he could blink and had his gun in her hand. "On second thought, I don't think you're in any shape to drive," she said, putting the safety on and waving Ronon over. He talked to a couple of uniforms before heading their way. "Ronon can take you home, and you can come pick your gun up later. Next week, maybe."

"C'mon, Sheppard," Ronon said, turning John around and bossing him into the passenger seat. "Let's get you home. McKay is probably pacing a hole in your dining room floor."

"He called you."

"Just protecting his family, the way he knows how," Ronon said, slamming the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat. "Now let's get you home so you can say thank you."


End file.
